


Melancholy is just a sign that you're getting old

by imagineering



Series: You'll be older, too [1]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reflection, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineering/pseuds/imagineering
Summary: Hijikata has strange dreams about spicy rice crackers and lost opportunities.
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Series: You'll be older, too [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109324
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Melancholy is just a sign that you're getting old

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> Thank you for taking the time to read this. It's just a really short story about Hijikata coping with the loss of Mitsuba and maybe finding some solace in Gintoki's presence while he's at it.  
> I'd say it's in a pre-relationship kind of situation. Hijikata just needs some time to come around.
> 
> This has been written for purely recreational purposes and I don't own Gintoki's eyes, whether they sparkle in close-ups or not, nor do I own a single one of Hijikata's countless mayo-bottles.

Toshirou still dreams about it, about the day she died. He doesn't dream about the fight though, nor does he dream about her face, her smile. It's not like he saw it during that time. He dreams about the spicy taste of senbei, salty from the tears that mixed with it, and the steady breaths and crunches that he could hear coming from the other side of the rooftop. Who knows why the bastard was there even, how the hell he'd figured out what all of this meant to Toshirou, but he did, and in those dreams, the sounds of the Yorozuya leave an incredibly loud echo, filling Toshirou like heartbeats, strong and steady.

  
Toshirou wonders sometimes if he could have prevented the events of that day, if he could've chosen differently. What if he had stayed behind with her? Would that have changed things? She might have survived, she might have made it.

  
It's a nagging, pointless thought. The realistic part of him knows that she had been too frail, and the idealistic part knows that his true calling is to stand in front of Kondou and protect him with his very soul. The cynical part doubts the existence of something like a heart within someone like him to begin with, and yet, there's this place, buried deep in his gut, that he can't keep from clenching whenever he thinks of her. It hurts. Like the loss of his brother, his only family, it hurts; as if a shard of glass has wedged itself inside of him and cuts him open with every movement.

  
There are only three situations in which he forgets about all of this. One is, when he's so absorbed in paperwork that he doesn't even notice how his cigarette burns out in the ashtray, one is, when he's surrounded by nothing but the sound of a battle, and one is, when the Yorozuya stops to stare into his eyes and wipe the blood from his cheek. Admittedly, the last one has only happened once, and that was just two days ago, but it has been rather effective, up until the point where Toshirou woke up to the sound of cracking senbei in his ears.

  
He can probably deal with those dreams. He's had worse, it's not a nightmare, not really. Besides, the expression in those burgundy eyes keeps on haunting him even when he's awake, so Toshirou is somewhat averse to trying that distraction method again. It's the understanding, he tells himself, and maybe the light, that made them look so soft. Soft in the face of a ferocious beast, that the silver-haired idiot had touched without a care in the world, as if there was nothing scary, nor repulsive about a murderer who had the blood of his victims literally pooling at his feet.

  
Toshirou lights up another cigarette and stares at the mayo bottle that's idly dangling from a fishing line right in front of his face. He's in the middle of the street, and there's people milling about, some staring at the display in astonishment. Others seem to be used to it already. It's hardly the first time this has happened, after all. It goes like this: he reaches for his prize and the line jerks it away, just as his fingers are going to close around it. He wonders what that game is about, if it's more torture or more tease, and if he is completely honest, he also hopes to find that one day, his reflexes are quick enough to beat the other's. Quite hopeless, probably, but a man needs his goals.

  
Yorozuya is looking down at him with his dead fish eyes like always, as if nothing ever happened this past week, from where he's leaning over his balcony above Otose's bar. Maybe it is for the better. Toshirou is not planning on changing a thing. He will live his life, just as he has always done. There's nothing else he can do, it's the only thing he's ever known, step forward, sword drawn. And Yorozuya is the same.

  
Sometimes Toshirou thinks the most terrible thing that ever happened to him was to find someone, something he wants to protect. Because that's why he keeps going, that's what keeps him strong, keeps him from giving up. It's what makes him take on all the pain head first, it's what leaves him vulnerable. Maybe the great thing about Yorozuya is that he knows he'll never be someone like that to him, because he's just like him. He'd never want to be protected, he'd always take care of that by himself.

  
Toshirou smiles and lunges.


End file.
